


Racehorses and Resolution

by friendlyneighborhoodsecretary



Series: I'm Never Prompt with Prompts [16]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Angst, Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie) Spoilers, But I Was Sad and Needed to Get It Out, F/M, I'm Gonna Pull a Lemony Snicket and Tell You to Read Something Happier, Look It's Not a Happy Story, Mention of (Implied) Death, Mention of pregnancy, Mourning, Post-Avengers: Infinity War Part 1 (Movie), mention of vomiting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-27
Updated: 2020-03-27
Packaged: 2021-03-01 01:02:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 925
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23336566
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlyneighborhoodsecretary/pseuds/friendlyneighborhoodsecretary
Summary: "She is months away from bringing a child into the world. And she is months away from doing it alone."The Snap has snapped, Tony is lost among the stars, and Pepper is not having a good time.
Relationships: Pepper Potts/Tony Stark
Series: I'm Never Prompt with Prompts [16]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1558726
Comments: 11
Kudos: 22





	Racehorses and Resolution

**Author's Note:**

> From the prompt: Rubatosis - the unsettling awareness of your own heartbeat.

He was right.

Because of _course_ he was. Somehow, he always is when it comes to predicting the future.

Or _was_ always right, more accurately.

That tiny little verb distinction makes Pepper’s stomach clench all over again. Her pulse roars in her ears as she retches into the toilet—she can feel it pounding beneath her skin, her heart thundering in her chest so hard it hurts. It gallops like a racehorse she can’t rein in, no matter how hard she tries to force it to settle. The knowledge that she’s teetering on the brink sparks a flash of irrational anger, even though she’s too busy heaving up the remains of her breakfast to do anything about it. If the ominous readings on the little white stick she’d abandoned on the side of the tub are correct—and they are, she knows they must be with the added weight of the two previous tests that display the exact same results—she can’t afford to be out of control. Not for a second.

She is months away from bringing a child into the world. And she is months away from doing it alone.

With Tony swept off into the stars by the same tide that ripped away half the planet in one fell swoop, Pepper will have to welcome his child to that same broken world by herself. That thought leaves her shuddering so hard it nearly sends her gagging again. Earth isn’t a welcoming place right now. It’s been two weeks—long enough for the air to no longer hang quite so thickly with the dust of the unfortunate, but not long enough for the scent of ash and ruin to clear—and the upheaval hasn’t even settled in the limited arena of Stark Industries, let alone in the rest of the world at large. Half of her company is smudged into the carpeting like so much soot on a hearth; the half that remains is rightfully in mourning. But, even now, Pepper knows that once the collective fugue state passes and the reality of the new world looms up in front of them, they’re all going to be buried alive under the work. There’ll be new chains of command to sort out, long-term relief efforts (to replace the short-term ones she’s spent the last weeks pouring herself into) to spearhead, massive hiring drives to delegate…a few million memorial services to appear at. Pepper finally rocks back on her heels and sucks in a shaky, resigned breath. She skims a hand across the planes of her stomach. All that and now _this_. Typical.

Her heartbeat still throbs in the background of every thought as she sags back against the wall. Her stomach still roils—just as it has every morning for the last six—and she stills feels ill with the realization of all that lies before her, but her pulse, at least, begins to feel less like a knife between her ribs. It’s less of a physical sensation now, the dull, roaring thud of each beat gradually receding to a more manageable level with every second. Pepper makes the effort to breathe deep, to pull herself back from the razor-edge of the panic she’s still kidding towards before it’s too late. Because—as mind-numbingly horrific and daunting and just plain overwhelming as the state of the world is—that isn’t what sends her heartbeat spiraling. Loss on such a grand scale is hard to grasp in any sort of tangible way. It comes with an instinctive recoil and a sympathetic horror, sure, but it’s hard to feel the blow of numbers ticked off on a screen, of dry reports that detail the death tolls, but the not the lives they represent.

It’s much, much easier to feel the hollow silence of Pepper’s bathroom: silence where there should have been giddy celebration, a steady stream of chatter about the plans they’d have to make for the Stark-To-Be, even a smattering of smug little one-liners about those prophetic dreams. The cold, empty space on the opposite side of her bed is just as conspicuous. Tony’s absence cuts at her in a thousand subtle, unexpected little ways with every passing day that he’s gone.

She doesn’t exactly want to say she’s given up on him—there is no pile of dust with his name on it, no body tangled in the wreckage of the Blip’s leftover chaos, no other definitive proof to say that Tony Stark has run out of cheap tricks and cheesy one-liners—but two weeks and a global devastation feels like a more certain death knell than any of his other near-misses combined. As much as Pepper aches to hold out for another Afghanistan, for another tearful reunion on another miraculous day, the analytical portion of her mind can’t quite allow it. No matter how much easier it would be on her heart.

Pepper pulls in a long gulp of air and pushes it slowly back out. In and out. In…and out. The racehorse in her ribcage slows from a breathless, terrified gallop to an uneven canter. Eventually, she wrestles it down to a resolute trot. After all, that’s what she’s going to have to be. Resolute. Steady. Dependable. For the company that now rests on her shoulders. For the few stragglers of her patchwork family that remain. For the little heartbeat that has yet to echo beneath Pepper’s, but which soon will.

Because even if they’ve lost Tony, Pepper’s going to make damn sure she looks after what’s left of him.

**Author's Note:**

> As always, feel free to drop me a line here or to come holler at me on Tumblr if you have comments, questions, or wanna shoot me a prompt!
> 
> Thank you for reading, my dears! I know it isn't a cheerful read, but writing it was therapeutic during this difficult time. I desperately hope you and your families all staying safe and healthy. It's a scary world right now, but we're all muddling through it together


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